V is for Valeria
by April Arrglington
Summary: Chapter 10 is up as of 09/15/10. Valeria is a seventeen year-old resident of Volterra who witnesses the events concerning Bella Swan & Edward Cullen at the Piazza di Priori's Clock Tower on Saint Marcus Day. Think DaVinci Code meets Twilight. AU
1. Chapter 1

1. The Catacombs of Volterra

Saint Marcus Day is a bittersweet holiday for me. Bitter , because that was the last time I saw my father. Sweet, because it opened my eyes to a frantic obsession that came to be my life's calling.

I've been having nightmares around this time of year ever since that day at the Piazza, when I last saw my father. The recurring nightmare always starts with me trapped inside an underground labyrinth, chased by the noise of flapping wings. Bats, I realize, fight to catch up with me as I corner the endless corridors in the dark. Running into dead ends relentlessly, I manage to push through. As I get closer to the center of the maze, a fading light points me towards what I'm unconsciously aiming for.

Not really knowing where it is I arrive at I find myself standing inside a candle light ancient crypt.

Six sarcophagi carved in elaborate alabaster rest in a chamber with walls lined with human skulls. Above the tombs a sign is carved in a language I don't understand; Latin maybe? A crest bares a V with a coat of arms exposing what looks like two trees and two moths.

As I move closer and try to decipher the symbols, the bats reach the catacomb chamber. As if in slow motion, they pause in mid air in front of me and materialize into people. Six beautiful people, three men and three women. I attempt to scream, but instead a hollow song comes out of me, like an empty screech.

And then I wake up.

Throughout the years the scene in the dream has gradually changed. Sometimes it appears that I am guiding the bats towards the catacombs, enticing them with the strange song in a secret language, my pitch pleading for a bargain. Other times I appear to be luring the bats with the same secret song, in a threatening tone, as if giving a warning.

Today I stand in the Piazza thinking about these dreams once again. It's been exactly twelve years to the day since I last saw my father. Twelve years since we moved to Volterra and the nightmares started. Twelve years since my journey begin in search of the truth. I have come a long way, mostly because I'm not a little girl anymore. I just turned seventeen, but I came to believe in the impossible a long time ago.

Right now the crowd spreads in front of me like a red sea taking over the streets, splitting into rivers of blood. People in the burgundy capes file in procession, chanting the songs that tell the story of Saint Marcus, the Christian missionary who drove all the vampires from Volterra thousands of years ago.

I stay away from the crowd, my demophobia getting the best of me. Ever since that day my father disappeared at the Piazza I skirt around them. Through the years I've tried to fight the fear and anxiety surrounding multitudes, but I always end up an observer, never a participant. So, I walk opposite the mass of people, heading home for lunch.

I smile as I pass two kids re-enacting the bloody battle of the wills between Father Marcus, sporting a wooden spear, and a vampire demon with fake plastic fangs. I head north of the Piazza, away from the Cathedral, just as the clock tower chimes to announce is midday.

That's when I saw it happened. After all these years of searching for truth and coming across peripheral evidence, here it was… proof before my very eyes. I couldn't believe it.


	2. Chapter 2

2. Empirical Evidence at the Piazza dei Priori

Everything about the day until this moment had been completely normal. I had left my mother's coffee shop early in the morning to avoid the crowds which were sure to flood the city, anticipating the procession. After finishing breakfast with the neighbors twins Mariano and Maribel I rushed out of the shop's door, determined to finish up my errands before noon. The twins, who were only a few years younger than me, offered to tag along, but I was in too much of a hurry, so I took to the streets by myself.

The procession kick-Started the Saint Marcus' Day celebrations every year, so I knew the parade route well. The march would start from the cathedral heading south-west towards the city limits, finishing up at the catacombs entrance. If I took certain side streets, I was sure to check all the items in my list and still be back at the coffee shop in time for lunch.

While en route, I fanned myself as I walked under the shaded buildings that populated the city. It was too hot and dry to be out in the sun. Thankfully, Volterra had been built with its buildings rising so close to each other that some streets only saw sunlight for a few minutes at noon.

My first stop was at the upholsterers to see if Ms. Miriam was done refurbishing the Persian carpet. She wasn't and so I didn't linger. Her shop was always hotter than outside, and her attitude wasn't very welcoming around this time of year. Ms. Miriam was of Persian descent and very superstitious about the festival. Hers was one of the few shops that opened during Saint Marcus' Day. She absolutely refused to acknowledge the vampire myths and take the day off as almost everyone else did. She saw all the festivities as a bad omen. With time I've come to realize why.

On my way to the Market I passed a tour bus filled with tourists fervently taking pictures of the buildings now dressed with red flags to commemorate Saint Marcus' Day. The bus was in transit; Volterra just a stop in a bigger tour. These sort of buses come to town every two weeks or so. It was hard to miss the tour guide, a gorgeous redhead with a seductive voice and incredibly long legs. She looked like she belonged on a runway in Milan instead of here, with all these foreigners snapping away like amateur documentarians.

At the market I ran into Mr. Chaconier, who complained how the magnolia tree in his front yard wasn't showing any signs of budding since the beginning of summer.

"What do I do with a dead tree now? The government, of course, is to blame!" he told in me in Italian as I put in my flour order for the coffee shop. Due to the summer drought and lack of competent plumbing maintenance from the city, the poor tree hadn't had enough irrigation.

"Did you know, Valeria," he continued, "that the mayor gets ridiculously large sums from anonymous sources to acquire and curate art at the Etruscan, Civic & Sacred Art Museums… yet he does nothing, NOTHING, to come up with a solution for the ancient plumbing problem plaguing the city?"

I usually try not to argue with Mr. Chaconier when he is in one of his moods. Besides, it was true, the city didn't know how to go about updating the ancient plumbing system without compromising the integrity of the historical underground city tunnels. The actual subversive infrastructure was part of the city's patrimony and all entrances were restricted.

"Are you watching the fireworks tonight?" I asked him, trying to change the subject, and it worked. I know Mr. Chaconier is nothing short of a pyromaniac, so by the time I headed back home he was savoring the night prospect with a smile and a spark in his eyes.

"Ciao," I waved to him, taking extra care of the refined sugar and flour in my bag. I stared down at my wristwatch and noticed that it was a quarter to noon. I was already running late, and was forced to take the short cut back. I was in charge of the baking batch for the afternoon, and if I didn't get back to the coffee shop in time mother would be left alone to deal with the crowds sure to mob the shop after the procession. I added a spring to my step as I headed back to the Piazza.

As I turned the corner a block away from the square, I noticed from the corner of my eye an intriguing sight across the street. Someone on a yellow Porsche, a clueless foreigner trying to bribe the officers I was sure, was arguing with the Polizia wanting to go through the Piazza. I stared in disbelief. The city was in practical lock down due to the Festival. You could only cross town by foot, just like I had done all morning. People were everywhere, and foreigners like these weren't making things any easier… with their impossibly demands and high maintenance needs for VIP treatment. It figured.

Before I lost my temper I reached the Piazza just as the clock tower chimed to announce midday. That's when I noticed a hysterical woman crossing the fontana fully clothed, shoes and all. I stopped to look closely from across the way. She appeared to be very young, almost as young as me. From her expressions I could see the anxiety eating at her as she headed toward… a young man who appeared to be undressing while walking from the shadows of the clock tower building entrance.

And then it happened.

I saw him for a moment, as his skin briefly touched the sun, sparkling like it was encrusted with diamonds. But the moment was so brief, it was gone like a blown candle flame. She crashed into him, pressing with all her might, pushing him back until both disappeared into the shadows. And then they were gone.

Now I stand here, in the Piazza, perplexed. And that's when it all comes back to me, like a whirl wind. I had stopped searching for proof for two years now, after running into one dead end after other. Always acquiring peripheral evidence, I grew tired of never obtaining anything remotely close to being irrefutable. I had settled to go on with my life ignoring my incessant obsession for truth. Until today, because I had just seen empirical evidence of the supernatural. Undoubtable, indisputable, infallible.

This wasn't my imagination. And the most valid reason I had to believe that was the basic fact that the man this young woman had crushed into was just surreal, too beautiful to look at.


	3. Chapter 3

3. Fernanda and the Embroidered Cloaks

My first Saint Marcus' Day feast was exactly two days after Father disappeared. We had just moved in from England a little over a month before. Father's company had transferred him here and my half Italian mother had agreed to the move with the pretext of wanting to reconnect with her roots. It was supposed to be a temporary situation anyway. I was merely six-years-old back then.

We had arrived to Volterra at night time. Mother had made reservations at the Hotel La Locanda for the night. The next day we were supposed to meet with the realtor to finish up with the moving arrangements. I had woken up when we landed but was exhausted by the trip. We were all tired, looking forward to a good night's sleep after a day long of traveling.

When we arrived at the hotel, I sat on the Mezzanine lounge as Mother bossed around the doorman about our luggage. Father approached the main desk to see about checking us in, but no one seemed to be manning the desk. He rang the traditional bell once and immediately and out of nowhere, she appeared like a cool summer breeze.

A gorgeous brunette receptionist proceeded to welcome Father and process our reservations. I watched as Father was mesmerized by the woman behind the counter. Her voice was magical, like a song. I remember gawking at her flawless skin and her shiny, dark eyes. She wore bright red lipstick and bright burgundy nails. She was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen.

"How long are you planning on staying?" she asked, her voice like a lullaby.

"Just tonight," Father answered.

"Are you traveling?" she paused, as she stole a glance at Mother and I waiting. "Family vacation?"

"No, actually." Father, for some reason, was turning red. "We… I was transferred here from Liverpool. Tomorrow, we move into our new place."

"Oh…" she looked up, changing her expression. "You are moving here…"

"Yes, I'm supposed to start work a week after we've settled down-"

"-so you must be the Breandans," she interrupted.

Father smiled with a look of incomprehension in his face. "Excuse me, have we met?"

"Oh… no," she backpedaled. "But, it's a small town. I guess you could say we've been expecting you." She gave him the key to our suite. Father smiled hugely.

"Welcome to Hotel La Loconda, complimentary breakfast starts at 7am."

"Thank you very much."

"You're welcome. Here at Volterra, we take care of our own."

She moved gracefully around the counter to guide us towards the elevators. Father introduced Mother and me. The lady's name, we learned, was Fernanda Cacciatore. She waved to us, in what seemed like slow motion, as the elevator doors closed. The three of us were left entranced.

The next day, Father took a break from his pending work calls to take me out for gelato. Mother decided to stay back and deal with the realtor and the pending moving arrangements. As we walked down the streets, we marveled at the sights, the medieval alabaster sculptures embellishing the ancient buildings. We passed by the Clock Tower, the Cathedral, and stopped for gelato at a store that appeared to specialize in sweets. A child's heaven; the store stocked up with gelato, pastries, chocolates, and candy of all shapes and sizes. It even had a counter section dedicated exclusively to lollipops in the most peculiar flavors and animal shapes.

The woman behind the counter, Elionora, sprinkled extra chocolate chips on top of my pistachio ice cream. The taste was so deliciously sweet; Father and I had a case of the giggles on our way back to the hotel. I learned that day that eating exquisite food tickles you with joy. We had to pause at a park bench midway so Father could clean up the gelato still stuck to my face.

"I love you," he whispered. "Mi Piccolina."

My eyes opened in amazement. "What is that?" I asked.

"Italian, which you will learn at school now…"

But we were interrupted.

She appeared under the tree shadows. As we turned, we saw Fernanda smiling at us. I felt him leave my side to say hello. I stared quietly at how his devoted attention shifted instantaneously. They talked about the weather and our stay so far. It seemed every step he would take towards her took him a mile away me. I approached loudly and pull his pant leg.

"Honey, don't you remember Miss Fernanda?"

"Hello there." She offered a sweet smile with cold eyes that held no trace of the maternal instinct most women were born with. She took a lollipop out from her purse. I noticed, weirdly, that it was in the shape of a bat.

"It's a special kind of candy," she told Father.

"I would say so… a bit morose."

"Yes, well it is only available this week for Saint Marcus' Day, which is coming up. Children all over town wait a whole year for these to be available at Elionora's. It's tradition."

Father smiled with a nod. I stared at the lollipop closely. It was bloody red and cherry flavored.

After the park, we found ourselves strolling in the city through the shadowy streets, and to her apartment. She showed us a shortcut under bridges and through what seemed to be tunnels. This part I will always remember clearly, despite my age, because it was eerie looking and cold. I felt like someone was following us the whole time, or that we were being watched.

When we got to her apartment, Father fought the urge to go inside. I could see his feet itching to go in, but he apologized. "We must head back," he stuttered.

"Thank you so much for walking me home," she offered. Then, holding her index finger up, she stepped aside. "Just hold on a second,"

We waited at the doorway looking inside the dark apartment. Sounds of a door opening and closing from down the hall echoed through. Finally, she appeared holding three tunics made from red fabric.

"Here, just wanted to give these to you." She reached out, offering them to him. There were three hooded capes, two in adult size and one sized for a child a bit taller than me.

"This one might be a bit big on Valeria, but with some alterations it should fit her fine."

"I don't know what to say… Thank you very much," Father answered.

"No need to thank me. This is tradition. Just make sure you wear them for the celebrations. It's the Volterra way. You are part of our town now."

Father had a hard time explaining the cloaks to Mother when we got back to the hotel three hours late for supper in account of getting lost twice on our way back. Mother was even more surprised when two days later Father brought Fernanda for dinner to our new house, which was still in shambles from the move. I could see Mother's disapproval and apprehension as Fernanda barely touched her food. After dinner, the grownups sat in the living room for coffee, while I stayed at the dining room table nearby, coloring the picture book Fernanda had brought for me.

"They are tradition, passed down generations since the original founding families. These three belonged to my brother's family." Her voiced caught with emotion. She was trying to explain the reasons for the passing of the cloaks to Mother.

She reached for one of the capes to show Mother the embroidered seams. "The robe, as you can see, is new. But see this patch here? It's from a primary cape. That is how the tradition disseminates from the originals. You can only get them once you become a member of the town, usually from a former member."

"Who did these belong to exactly?" Mother asked, her apprehension melting away.

"My brother, his wife and child… died in a horrible car accident, just outside the city limits."

"How horrible," Mother commented mortified.

Fernanda sighed lightly and shook her head, putting thoughts of the past aside. "That is why I want you to have them," she insisted. "You will honor me if you take them and keep the tradition alive. I have no family left, no prospects…" she paused, as if the prospects of having a family of her own weren't in the cards for her.

"Besides, these are supposed to bring you luck and good fortune. They will protect you. You must promise me you'll accept them and wear them for the Feast of Saint Marcus."

My parents accepted the cloaks and Mother and I didn't see Fernanda again. Father however started acting strange for the next couple of weeks. Every time I was running errands with him, he seemed distracted, like he was looking for something, or someone.

Mother probed for answers to his sudden mood swings to no avail. They started fighting like I had never seen them fight before. Mother demanded to know about his secretive ways, but Father was adamant in his new found silence. The arguing progressed rapidly and violently, until the day Father vanished.

He just didn't come home one day. Mother was devastated that night, sobbing for him in vain, hours after he hadn't show up for dinner after work. After calling the office and thinking about all possible prospects, we gave up after a few days of searching. The police was flustered and puzzled, considering the lack of mysterious disappearances recorded inside Volterra. The town fired up with gossip after it was in the papers and soon, neighbors we barely knew were coming in with lasagnas in tow for dinner for the two of us. Everyone expected the worst.

Father's company was very supportive of Mother, giving her a healthy insurance package deal for our loss. They encouraged her to go back to our family in Liverpool, pressing that it was the most sensitive thing to do. Mother was exhausted and defeated, so she agreed. We started packing two days before the Feast of Saint Marcus.

That's when she appeared on our front doorstep.

Mother asked me to go play outside with twins Mariano and Maribel, the younger kids from the apartments next door. Reluctantly, I obeyed. Realizing only later, when Fernanda left, that I would never find out what they had discussed or why Mother had decided to suddenly stay. But we did.


	4. Chapter 4

4. My First Saint Marcus' Day Feast

Those two days prior to the feast celebrations I was worried I had come to live with a zombie. Mother was unbearably quiet, just going through the motions. I pressed her to tell me what happened, but she wouldn't say anything. Late at night I could hear her crying herself to sleep with a hopelessness that scared me. I didn't know what to do.

Finally, Saint Marcus' Day was upon us, and I was able to drag Mother outside the house. Maybe it was the fact that there were so many people out in the streets. I couldn't tell. But something piqued Mother's interest to see the procession. It was as if she was slowly awakening from a deep sleep.

I knew she was looking for him as we walked the streets of Volterra, watching the crowds gather around. We paused in front of Elionora's, where I begged to get my favorite gelato. She relented, not only because she always had a sweet tooth, but also because she hadn't really eaten anything for two whole days.

We sat down at a table, Mother eating biscuits dipped in chocolate while I finished my ice cream. Out the window I saw Mariano and Maribel, sporting red cloaks, arrive at the Piazza with their parents. In an attempt to pass the time, they began to draw a game of hopscotch on the sidewalk in front of Elionora's with white chalk. Other kids offered to join in, collecting small rocks, beer caps, and small sticks to play the game. The procession wasn't expected to start on time; nothing really did in Italy.

"Why don't you join them?" Elionora approached offering me a box of lollipops. "Go ahead and share with everyone." My eyes widened as I ran outside without hesitation, pausing only to look back inside the window to Elionora, who was then offering some tea to Mother with a friendly smile.

The kids came to me to claim their lollipops like bees to honey. We played hopscotch for a few minutes only pausing to hear the band start playing a few blocks down. The procession was starting. I looked up at the street to the crowds of people, excitement filling the air. I picked up a lollipop and noticed the entire box was full with the same kind, in shape of a bat, like the one that Fernanda had given me. I looked closely and noticed that the head of the bat had an orifice I hadn't notice before. I realized only then, that it was a type of whistle candy. I tried it, whistling hard, and noticed that the sound was a mix between a high-pitched ring and a screech.

And then I saw him.

My father, under a black cloak, was moving through the crowd heading to a side building entrance. I dropped my lollipop and ran instinctively towards him through the crowd, yelling his name. But I was so small; there was no way he would hear me or that I could catch up with him. In front of me the sea of red expanded infinitely. Knees pushed and pulled me to all directions. The edges of his dark cape were fading in the distance, disappearing.

I heard my name been called, but I wouldn't stop or turned around, not wanting to risk losing him from sight. The crowd noise became louder anyway, drowning all distinct sounds. That is when the claustrophobia finally hit.

I felt like I was being squeezed into a vacuum, and like a fish out of water I lost my ability to breathe. Suddenly the square was spinning, the crowd turning blurry. Pain was abruptly knocking the side of my head as I felt myself hit the ground. For a split second I saw him, my father, wanting to reach for me. He had turned, and was now yelling an echoing-

"NO!"

-but it was too late. I had already passed out.

I woke up to see Elionora's daughter, Cecilia, looking down at me. Relief flashed in her eyes as she called back to her mother in Italian, "I found her! She's alright!"

I sat slowly, realizing I was still on the streets of the Piazza, people circling around us. How much time had passed? Maybe five, ten minutes tops? I looked around. The procession was still underway, but there was no sign of Father. The moment had passed, and now reality was crashing down like a headache. I could feel the blood pulsating on the side of my head. I touched my right side burn and noticed that I had cut myself with the pavement and was bleeding.

Mother came almost tumbling down the square. She took one good look at the side of my bleeding face and with newfound determination, sharp focus, and command carried me home in her arms.

Her days of sulking and moping around were brought to an abrupt stop. Within the week she and Elionora had become business partners. With the insurance money Mother got from Father's company we didn't move back to Liverpool, but instead Mother put a down payment on the available space next door to Elionora's Candy Shop, and opened the Café.

Of course the Café wasn't fully functional and up and running until a year later, but despite all the red tape Mother encountered every step of the way she was determined to stay in Volterra and succeed. Running the Café became more than the means to support her family. She was coming back to life with ferocity. By succeeding in this endeavor it was as if she was proving a point to someone. I just wasn't sure exactly what, or to whom.

I didn't care. We were settling into our new life as official citizens of Volterra, and I liked it, maybe because I still carried with me the idea that Father was going to come back sooner of later, and by staying he would know exactly where to find us.

I also liked Elionora and her daughter Cecilia, who later came to be my best friend. They were originally from Valencia, Spain. They had been nomads who followed an ancient Gypsy trail that led them through France and northern Italy. They had finally settled in Volterra after Elionora's trolley accident in which she had fractured her hip. She now limped, but somehow had the energy of a teenager.

I loved Elionora. She was like a mystical grandma, even though she was just a few years older than Mother. She taught me how to bake old Spanish recipes while telling me Spanish folkloric fairy tales and all about her extraordinary travel adventures. Curiously enough, Cecilia, on the other hand, had a logical and reasoning mind. She often rolled her eyes at her mother's stories, sharing the kitchen as a common ground only because of Cecilia's green thumbs and ability to grow all sorts of special herbs for Elionora's recipes.

It's interesting how Cecilia and I became best friends, seeing as how we didn't really have that much in common. She was older than me by two years, so in school she was two grades ahead of me. However, due to our mother's partnership, somehow it fell into Cecilia's lap to help me with my Italian. I am good with languages, so I picked it up quickly and with ease. In turn, I inadvertently ended up helping her with her English, proving with time a good English teacher despite my young age.

At first it was hard to see eye to eye on things. Cecilia was into biology and science. I, on the other hand, ate up everything from social class to the city's history and folklore. I was just so enthralled with all the beautiful and intrinsic alabaster art and architecture Volterra offered. Eventually, however, Cecilia and I realized our talents complemented our friendship nicely. We grew comfortable in each other's company and had fun contradicting each other.

Also, while eavesdropping on our mothers' conversations, I had gathered that Elionora didn't know who Cecilia's father was, so Cecilia and I had this unspoken rule about never speaking about our fathers. Also, since we spoke English when we were together, the notion of having a secret language to call our very own cemented our friendship to a new Best-Friends-Forever level.

By the time I turned 10-years-old Volterra was seducing me into growing roots in its opened bosom, beckoning me to call it home. But the city's beauty changed all its meaning soon enough.


	5. Chapter 5

5. I Spy a V

By the summer of 2000, I was 11 and a half, and Mother and I were doing well. The Coffee Shop was a big hit with the tourists, a must stop in town to sample Mother's new flavored drink of the week. I, on the other hand, was becoming fluent in Italian and perfecting my baking skills. My English Lady Fingers became popular in town for some odd reason. I'm wondering if the British Consulate had something to do with it. They were biased because I babysat Mariano and Maribel, the Consul's grandchildren, a few times.

Seasons had slipped by in a blur, and with the pass of time, my recurring nightmares had became more vivid. I tried to ignore this fact by focusing on spending my waking hours busying myself with online games online, books, and boy band fantasies. I rarely mentioned my dreams to anyone. When I was younger, I described a particular one to Mother, and that hadn't gone well. Years later, I brought up another one to Cecilia and quickly learned not to bring the subject up ever again. She worried and nagged that I should stop watching horror films. She didn't understand that horror films were fun and not nearly as menacing as my nightmares.

Yet, it was hard not to be influenced by all the gothic imagery the city offered. Myths and superstitions were part of our everyday life, and their symbolism was found all over the city. On a daily basis, you were reminded how to protect yourself from the 'Evil Eye' in a dozen different ways. Despite all of this, I was turning into a teenager who had learned to love Volterra as my hometown, regardless of the occasional bittersweet taste that would arise in my mouth at the sight of lollipops or pistachio ice cream.

It was the beginning of summer vacation and Ceci, my nickname for Cecilia, and I were inseparable. We still argued constantly, nonetheless. It seemed that the more I got into fantasy and science fiction books that year, the more she would attempt to refute all of my notions with excerpts from 'Biology's World Journal' or 'Science Today'.

"So how would you explain the Blood Rain in Kerala?" We were in my room, where we had been arguing facts vs. fiction all morning. "It's been happening as early as 1896. This type of weather can't be found anywhere else on the planet. How can you deny that this is paranormal phenomena?"

"Please! It probably was meteorite dust," Ceci countered.

"Unlikely. They found no such evidence in the samples." I pointed to the report I found on the internet. I was such a total geek back then.

"Let me see that." She snatched the papers from my hand. "Why are you looking into this sort of thing anyway?"

"It came up while I was reading,"

Cecilia looked up from the report, doubtful.

"All right, I need to know about 'Red Rain' phenomena to get to the next level of this new, open source interactive game I'm playing online," I said unapologetically.

Her eyes rolled.

"It's all about 'defeating the bizarre.' Don't know how else to explain it."

She looked down at the report and let out an unwilling smile, "Uh hm."

"It doesn't matter though. I think Dario is going to help me beat this next level. Yesterday he IM'd me and mentioned something about how killing the creature living in the cave of level 6 would do it…"

"Dario who? The guy from the library?"

I first met Dario when Ceci got sick with the stomach flu, thus leaving me with no entertainment companion for two full weeks. During this time, I had gone to the library to play games online because my desktop at home had recently crashed with a virus, thanks to Mother's inability to surf the net without breaking something. While surfing gaming forums in the computer section of the library, I noticed this older kid I had never seen in town before. He was sporting geeky glasses and messy hair while checking out some programming books in the hallway next to where I was sitting. Despite the fact that he was 3 years my senior, we clicked immediately when he realized we were both gaming aficionados.

I found out that first day, that Dario's family was the latest addition to the residents of Volterra. A half-breed, like me, he described himself as half Italian and half German. This was great because it made him fluent in English and German, since he had lived in both London and Berlin. His affluent family owned a few wineries in the area and a chain of flower shops across Italy, Austria, and Germany.

Despite Dario's socioeconomic status, he was extremely introverted; so much so, it hindered him sometimes. He kept to himself a lot, which gave him a mysterious edge. I quickly noticed that his problem wasn't with small groups, but intense anxiety with crowds. When I figured this out, I approached him and opened up about my fear of crowds as well and soon we were commiserating about our shared demophobia. He told me that he always had felt like this. However, his condition wasn't triggered by any particular event, as was the case with me.

After two weeks of hanging out, it was clear that he took to me as one would a pet, finding we had a mutual love for horror films, science fiction, and online games. He was a wiz with his computer, a bonafide hacker who actually ended up fixing my desktop for free. The first time I went to his house, I was just in awe of the amount of gadgets and gizmos that seemed to have exploded in his room. However, I wasn't surprised. After all, he had the means to afford a 'Command Center,' as I started calling it.

"Yeah, he fixed my desktop the other day in, like, an hour. He's genius, you know, one of those people that can fix anything. I bet he could fix your microscope," I told Ceci.

"You think so?" she asked, wide-eyed. I grinned, reassuringly.

I didn't think introducing these two was going to be a problem, or in anyway detrimental to our separate friendships. Boy was I mistaken. I was proven wrong the very day I introduced Dario to Ceci.

They were just one year apart in age, but soon enough it was impossible to separate them at all. In the time it took Dario to fix up Ceci's microscope, and hook it up to her computer so she could see digital images of her micro sightings, it was puppy love if I ever saw it.

Completely nauseous about the whole thing, I opted to abandon the love birds for the rest of the summer so as to keep my food down. I was hoping against all hope that by the time school started the honeymoon phase would have passed, and we could all just hang out together without any GDA: gross displays of affection.

This is how I came to babysit the twins next door full time. The timing was perfect, Mariano and Maribel's mom needed an emergency sitter one evening when the British Consul was visiting from Rome. She and her husband took the in-laws for a night out just as I forced myself not to be depressed about the recent love developments between my two best friends.

The twins were now 8 years old. Maribel was the oldest and quieter of the two. She, however, was deceptively mischievous, always plotting some clever prank. Mariano, though more vivacious than his sister, was her enthusiastic fellow miscreant. He absolutely idolized Maribel, acquiescing in to all of her plots and whims, even when it meant getting into trouble-specially if it meant getting into trouble.

For example, earlier that day, Maribel got caught throwing water balloons at people on the street from the balcony of their apartment. Mariano, however, took full responsibility for the lark. Later, when asked, he stated that he had no regrets. I, for one, believed him. Mainly because I could hear his laugh that whole afternoon all the way from my house.

When I came over that night that I was scheduled to babysit, they decided to give me a hard time. This included making a mess of the kitchen while I attempted to cook a "Brazo Gitano" or Gypsy Arm cake. I, however, enticed them with the story of the origins of the recipe and coerced them into cooking with me and cleaning up after themselves.

"Why they call it that?" Maribel asked curiously.

"Because it looks like a forearm, see the picture?" I pointed out.

The twins looked at the cookbook skeptically, unable to see the resemblance.

"Elionora told me the original story though, on why they call it that." I paused for effect. "But I'm not sure if I should tell you…." I finished, while pouring ingredients into a mixing bowl.

"Why not?" Maribel asked.

"You might have nightmares."

The twins shook their heads furiously. "We won't, we promise!" They crossed their hearts and hoped to die.

"OK… if you say so," I pretended to give in. I teased them while handling the mix, rolling it with the rolling pin. "Many years ago, a nomadic Gypsy tribe migrated from the north to the south of Spain, earning a very bad thieving reputation. So much so, that in those days they decided to punish stealing by cutting the thief's arm off. Most members of that tribe became infamously mutilated."

Both twins inhaled deeply, horrified.

"Of course, such a sight is scary to see," I continued. "Especially for impressionable little children, so mothers began to circulate threatening stories to their kids—if you misbehaved, the Gypsies would come in the middle of the night and kidnap you. Or, if you got caught stealing, you would end up with no arms, like the Gypsies."

I rolled the dough onto a pan and put it in the oven, satisfied that I had won their full attention. "As if that wasn't enough, taunting mothers all over Spain came up with this recipe to remind their children of the consequences of naughtiness and stealing. If you think about it, the whole thing was very racist. Not all Gypsies were like the ones from that one tribe at all. The Gypsy tribe from the south was made up of respectable business owners that distrusted the northern tribe for ruining the Gypsy name all over Spain." I had started cleaning up the counters, waiting for any impressions or comments.

Finally, Mariano broke the silence. "You know, that makes no sense at all."

Maribel followed his thoughts. "Yeah, how can a handicapped person possibly kidnap a kid in the middle of the night if they are missing their arms?"

"Excellent point, you two! Having no arms is quite impractical," I said, smiling satisfactorily. "It took years before these unfounded and discriminating notions were lifted. However, this recipe is left to remind us of how racist people were back then."

"Huh," mumbled Mariano, who at this point was helping his sister load the dishwasher. Pleased with myself, I sprinkled powder sugar as a garnish on a serving platter, waiting for the timer to ding. By the time the cake was ready, I couldn't believe I had won over the twins with a social history cooking lesson. The twins liked the cake and ate happily while swapping stories of armless fictitious characters, like pirates and zombies.

After that night, the twins loved coming along with me to the Coffee Shop, or to the market, to learn about baking and interesting cooking recipes. They even ventured to attempt their own creations, coming up with such interesting ideas as 'sweet and sour spaghetti' and 'chocolate chip and gummy bear ravioli.'

We would go to the park on weekends and have 'sampling picnics,' in which we would try each others' confections. I often ate my bounty and left theirs for Zurich, a mutt we often encountered at our park spot, who happened to love the twins' 'strawberry-infused meatballs.'

One of the twins' favorite games when we went to and from the house was our own alphabet version of 'I spy.'

"I spy a **P**ink elephant!" Mariano would say.

"That doesn't count if it's a cloud!" Maribel would argue.

"Why not?" Mariano interrupted, looking at me for reference.

"Sorry Maribel, in my version of the game that counts for P," I smiled sheepishly.

Maribel frowned. "In that case, I spy a magic **Q**uill." She pointed at a lady's hat feathers.

"I spy a **R**ed coat!" Mariano offered.

"That doesn't count! Coat starts with a C."

"But it's Reeeed!"

"I spy a **S**nake!" I would counteroffer, pointing at a man's snake leather boots. The twins smiled, liking the clever reference.

"I spy a **T**ourist!" Mariano shouted.

"I spy the **U**pstairs neighbor!" Maribel said, waving excitedly at Mr. Abantantuono from 3B.

"I spy a **V**!" Mariano counteroffer, pointing at the wall.

_What?_ We all paused to turn and inspect the point of reference.

Right there on the Post Office building wall. We closed in and examined the intricate V as part of the ancient alabaster wall décor. Yet we couldn't make out the details, as the letter stood at the same height as the street signs.

The V sported a familiar design; maybe it was a symbol for the city? "Maybe it stands for Volterra," I offered.

"Look, it's down here too!" Maribel pointed at an ancient floor plate that accessed the aqueducts.

"Interesting, I've never noticed it before," I mentioned.

On our way home we noticed 15 more displays of the V, mostly in the old city buildings.

"Maybe it stands for Voltage," Mariano suggested, while pointing at the letter branded on the brass of an ancient city light post.

"Maybe it stands for Ventilation," Maribel proposed, while pointing at the letter branded on the iron floor vents.

By the time we got home, the twins had exhausted their vocabulary options. We said our goodbyes, and as I headed towards my house next door, I heard Mariano yell from the screen door window pane:

"Valeria!"

"Yes?" I turned to him.

"Maybe that's what it stands for! The V…"

"What?" I asked again, confused.

"…is for Valeria!" he repeated. "V is for Valeria," he reiterated, waiving goodnight.

I waved back at him and smiled. The twins, in a way, saved my summer from total boredom that year, but years later they would actually come to save my life.


	6. Chapter 6

6. The Tumuli at the Dry Basin

By the end of the summer, Ceci and I had arranged to go on a camping trip near the Cecina River. Mostly because she felt bad about abandoning me and spending most of the summer with Dario. She was trying to make it up to me, because she knew how much I loved camping. But I knew better than to believe we had gone on the trip just for my benefit. She was avoiding Dario, and it was obvious because she was down in the dumps.

Sure enough, I learned from Dario before leaving for our trip that they had their first fight when Ceci pressured him to quit smoking. They hadn't spoken since, a total of two whole days, which was an eternity considering they had spent every waking moment together since they met. In turn, Ceci had come up with the camping trip idea just so she could borrow sometime before facing each other again.

I wasn't worried though, I knew this was a passing storm. She was just incredibly sensitive to the environment, nature, and the health and well being of all organisms, especially those who she loved. To keep her occupied and away from all things Dario I showed her my progress on my target practice, one of my favorite sports. I wasn't very good at it yet, but for some reason liked it, so had devoted part of the summer to master it. She in turn showed me the intricate macramé necklace she had been working on since she had gotten sick earlier in the summer. It was nice to catch up with her after all the time we had spent apart.

Despite my efforts though, a lot of our conversations would digress back to Dario and how he was 'collecting tribal masks now'-something or other. In these instances I tried to veer the conversation back to neutral ground. I brought up 'Buffy, l'ammazza vampiri,' while we walked the woods along the river one evening. Buffy was a new popular show exported from America that was all the rage with the kids in town.

"I'm sorry, I don't get it," said Ceci.

"What is there to get?" I answered.

"The whole show… I mean the bad jokes, the fight scenes on heels, the crazy vampire makeup.

"It's supposed to be cheesy. It's set in high school! What were you expecting?"

Ceci let out a sigh. A Dario kind of sigh, I could tell. "Not sure. I guess I'm not really into pop culture as much as I should be."

I stopped her before she headed down that road again. "You know what your problem is?"

"What?"

"You take everything too seriously."

"I guess its part of my Gypsy heritage, or something. No matter how you look at it, irony and sarcasm just… elude me."

"Thank god you have me around to steer you in the right direction. Maybe if I dare you to come up with a sense of humor you'll make an effort?"

She smiled and nodded quietly. I knew her contrarian ways couldn't keep her away from a dare.

I changed the topic to a cheerier one. "So, at what time you want to go cliff diving tomorrow?"

"We're not far away from the waterfall I have in mind, so whenever we decide to head out that way. It's just a 20 minute walk west from the campsite."

"Cool. Hey, I'm getting hungry. Maybe we should head back?"

"Yeah, I'm getting chilly too… I know! Let's take this shortcut Dario taught me last time we came camping."

I rolled my eyes at the sound of his name.

"His family owns a winery not too far from here. We sneaked into the wine fair two weeks ago by cutting through this dry basin." Ceci pointed out east. I followed her, happy to have thought to bring the flashlight. Twilight was upon us.

As we approached the edge of the basin, we heard some voices and decided to slow down. It was windy, so it was hard to make out who was out there with the air stream blowing against us so loudly. I hunched down by a bush and scanned the area. Maybe there were some other campers here?

I noticed a black van parked in reverse at the opposite edge of the basin. Nearby, at the bottom of the basin, stood three men were smoking cigarettes next to a pile of plastic garbage bags and what appeared to be a massive, freshly-dug hole.

I felt Ceci approaching quietly behind me to take a peek. I signaled to her with my index finger to keep quiet. She nodded. We crouched together behind the bushes and stared at the plastic bags. That's when we froze. Those weren't garbage bags at all; they were body bags.

I am not sure how we made it back to our tent. In retrospective, I must have had an adrenaline rush. Somehow, I was able to pull Ceci away and managed to get us back to the campsite unscathed. Once we reached the safety of the inside of the tent we stared at each other, terrified.

"We should call the police," I suggested, gasping for air.

"No! We need to go back home!" she reasoned, reaching for our bags.

I peeked outside the tent for signs of pursuit. Nothing. I turned back to notice Ceci already packing.

"Maybe we're overreacting, I said, trying to keep calm.

Ceci stopped in her tracks and stared back at me in disbelief.

"We are not sure what is in those bags…" I contested.

"I know what I saw. To tell you the truth, I hope I'm wrong, but I don't want to find out one way or the other."

I saw the hysteria quickly filling her eyes, so I conceded the point and helped her pack the tent.

When we got back to town, we kept to ourselves and didn't talk to each other for a few days. I tried her on the phone a couple of times with no luck. It appeared she was riding the panic wave successfully with denial; but at the end of the week, I couldn't stand it any longer. I ambushed her over at Dario's, knowing perfectly well he would be up to speed on what had transpired, and confronted her about it. I needed to get back to the basin and find out for sure what it was that we saw.

"What! Are you crazy?" She stared at me in disbelief.

"I need to know for sure if we saw what we think we saw."

"What else could it have been? I mean, who would bury trash in a dry basin in the middle of nowhere?"

Dario cut in from his desktop, motioning us to look at his screen.

"Nope. That particular area you are describing is not a landfill. It's not listed under the European Union Landfill Directive-"

Cecilia turned to me, "I told you…"

Dario continued, "-but I found out through the archeological archives of the city's database that the area in question geographically coincides with a registered tumuli from the 9th century."

"A what?" Ceci and I chimed together.

"Tumulus are ancient family tombs from the Etruscan period, often common in towns such as this. You said you guys were at a basin?"

"Yeah," I said.

"Did you see any mounds or small hills?

"No," Ceci and I responded in unison.

"Hmm. In that case, the tumuli could be so old that is now part of the landscape, which would make sense… been that a basin is like a small valley, and where there is a valley there are mounds that surround it."

"So, what you are saying is that there is an ancient underground graveyard there?" I asked Dario.

"Arguably."

Shit. I was definitely going back now. Ceci stared back at me with apprehension.

"If you don't want to go, that's fine. But I'm going." I stood, determined.

"I absolutely can not let you go to a registered tumuli site… without me." Dario said, putting his palms together, savoring the prospect.

Out numbered two to one, Ceci just growled while giving us the evil eye reproachfully.

We drove to the site in question on Saturday morning, agreeing with Ceci that if we found anything suspicious at all, we would alert the authorities.

When we got there, however, we found nothing.

No bags, no signs of conflict, not even blood. There were no clear hills or mounds in the landscape to speak of, so we plowed around half the day for clues without avail. There were no bodies buried anywhere. The only things in the vicinity were some rock formations I hadn't noticed the first time around.

On our way back, we stopped at Mother's Coffee Shop for refreshments, relived that we had found nothing. Ceci was especially cheerful about Mother's new drink creation she called Frapeccino that had struck a cord particularly with the American tourists. I, however, couldn't stop thinking about how our findings made no sense at all.

But there was nothing more to do. We were back in school that coming Monday, and the routine of classes, homework, and school gossip predictably took over my thoughts.

Normal routine continued until a few weeks later when I spotted the black van I had seen at the basin again, double-parked near the picnic area where the twins and I usually go. I was able to make out, before the van took off, that it belonged to a funeral home.

That night, while eating pizza over at Dario's, I offered the scribbled name I had written down on my notebook in a hurry. "Landini e Lavorazione Funerari," Dario read out loud.

Ceci refuted the connection, "Are you even sure it was the same van?"

"Yes, I couldn't make out the print that day at the basin, but I recognized it today; it was the same coloring and font. I am positive."

After typing on his keyboard, Dario pulled up a website that confirmed that the small funeral home in question was located two towns away, near the coast of the Tyrrhenian Sea.

"The place offers all types of funeral arrangements, but it specializes in cremations," Dario elaborated. We sat quietly for a while. Ironically, Ceci was the first one to come up with a theory. She just couldn't help her analytical mind. I took it as a good sign that we were winning her over.

"OK, let's just say, hypothetically, that those were body bags, just for argument sake. If we had it wrong and the body bags we saw weren't buried but unearthed instead, to what purpose would they be taken to a funeral home? Isn't that backwards?"

"Curious. They also help the local shelters with humane animal terminations," Dario interrupts while scrolling down the screen.

That's when a horrifying thought entered my head. "It makes me wonder what other services they provide. Incineration for unwanted bodies perhaps?"

"To what end?" Ceci replied, "Why not leave buried bodies in the middle of the abandoned countryside? Why bother moving them at all if no one suspects they are there in the first place."

"Especially when the site is a known Tumulus," brainstormed Dario. "Remains are expected to be found in the area, which is untouchable as historical patrimony. So there must be some other reason. Maybe they were tomb robbers?"

"But there were no tombs, or bodies for that matter!" I argued, "OK, I'm no archeologist, but it was pretty clear to me there are no remains or artifacts of any kind there."

"Maybe the Tumuli location is off by a kilometer radius or two. Maybe the landscape has changed with the years, shifting its location. Even if we were at the right spot, maybe there are no remains because anything from the 9th Century is pretty much decomposed. Who knows, Valeria." Ceci said, "None of it makes any sense."

And just like that, we hit another dead end.


	7. Chapter 7

7. Ms. Miriam & the Secret Chamber

Ceci stood up, advocating going out. "I say we go watch a movie. I mean, there is no evidence of any bodies anyway, is there? Maybe what we saw wasn't at all what we thought we saw and… let's face it, going over hypothetical scenarios is not the best way to spend our Friday evening."

We had been musing over possible explanations for our findings, exhausting all theoretical avenues. Ceci had been skimming forensic sites online for possible clues for half an hour now, while Dario and I were finishing our pizza.

It was obvious we were done brainstorming for the day, unable to pursue the matter any further. Now the big question was, did we finish playing "EverQuest: The Ruins of Kunark" or did we just go watch the latest Leonardo DiCaprio movie?

That's when Dario's mother, Lourdes, interrupted us.

"Dario, carino, can you do me a favor? I need you to deliver an important arrangement please." Dario's mom usually spoke English to us for my benefit.

"Why?" said Dario, annoyed.

"Please? Arturo is stuck with the delivery van across town with a flat tire and these Callas need to get to a wake, pronto."

Dario sighed, unable to say no to his mother, "Where?"

"Near the Market, by the City Limits."

"Fine, but I'm keeping the truck for the night then. We want to go to the movies."

"Very well, just don't get pulled over." She threw him the truck keys.

"I won't…"

I found it funny that Dario's mom always asked him to run errands for her or the family's Flower Shop. I mean, he was still two years shy of getting his driving permit, yet in Italy if you looked the part no one questioned you. And, well, Dario was tall.

We climbed down the stairs to the Flower Shop on the first floor. Dario's family owned the entire building including the parking lot next door filled with a handful of delivery trucks. We picked up the massive Callas array from the back refrigerated section and headed to our destination by six o'clock. We had plenty of time to make it to the eight o'clock show, and we still had two hours of sunlight. Which was good, because then we only had to worry about the possibility of getting pulled over on our way back.

We arrived at the apartment building soon enough, located a block away from the Market and across from a small square that featured a water fountain. I recognized the street block immediately because on the opposite side of the Fontana was Ms. Miriam's Reupholsters Shop. That was where Mother and I got the Persian rugs cleaned once a year.

The Callas arrangement was almost six feet tall, and as we struggled to carry it to the door we were relieved to find it was a first floor delivery. Dario rang the bell, going through the motions of the delivery. A man opened the door.

At first I couldn't make out who it was because the flowers were blocking my view. But when the man proceeded to take the flowers inside the house I caught a glimpse of his face and that's when I froze. He was one of the men I saw at the basin. It wasn't that I had photographic memory, but he sported a completely bald haircut that made him easily recognizable.

He signed for the flowers and dismissed us without saying a word. Dario and Ceci headed back to the truck while I seemed to be rooted to the spot. They stared back at me. "Valeria, come on or we'll miss the movie," Ceci remarked impatiently.

I ignored them, suddenly realizing that since we were delivering to a wake then the funeral home's black van still had to be in the vicinity. I started walking down the building's side street.

"Valeria! Where are you going?" Dario yelled, both of them following me to the small parking lot behind the building. The sight of the parked black van answered his question.

Ceci gasped. "Oh my gosh! Valeria!" she whispered.

I got closer to the van without hesitation, seizing the only opportunity we had to inspect the van for clues.

"What are you doing?" Ceci continued, turning to Dario, panicked. "We should leave right now!"

But I didn't relent until I saw it. The crest featuring the V I'd seen in my dreams on a decal to the right hand side of the license plate.

Before I got to say anything Dario was pulling me back.

"Come on!" Dario pressed.

He was motioning to the fact that someone was exiting through the back door of the building. Panicked, we ran through the parking lot and down the back street as fast as we could until we reached the Market on the next block, where we paused to catch our breath.

After a moment of staring at each other, Ceci finally snapped. "What the fuck Valeria! Are you nuts?"

I couldn't answer her. I needed a minute to think this whole thing through. How was I going to explain that these V symbols were somehow hunting me?

Irritated, I started walking down the street and around the bend, back to the small square where we had parked. Dario and Ceci followed me quietly, giving me some space.

As we reached the square I noticed Ms. Miriam sitting on one of the benches by the water fountain. She was staring at me intently while smoking a cigar. It dawned on me that the square was almost deserted. Had she seen all that had just happened?

_No, Valeria, now you are being paranoid._

I took a seat on the bench to the right of Ms. Miriam's. I motioned to Dario and Ceci that I just needed a break to collect my thoughts. "Just let me sit down for a minute." They complied, sitting next to me, careful not to push the limits of my patience.

I distracted myself by staring at Ms. Miriam. Her most prominent feature was her hands, ragged and tanned from working all day. She often smelled like a mix of the incense she burned at her shop and the cigars she often smoked before retiring to the apartment behind her shop right at sunset.

I smiled to myself. Ms. Miriam was a strange character. She was fine to deal with in the context of her upholstery business. However, if you met her out of such context, it was always a gamble to know how exactly she would react to any sort of interaction.

She was famously superstitious, her shop bursting with strange totems and mystical trinkets from the Jordan, where she was from. And it was rumored she adhered by a solar calendar, never coming out at night, always closing her shop one hour before sunset. This meant longer working hours during the summer and short working hours in the winter. Nobody understood her practices, or her odd behavior. Gossip on the streets was that she was an ex-opium addict. Others argued that the fumes from Aniline leather dyeing were taking their toll on her.

At least that last explanation made sense. I, on the other hand, was far from finding any explanations to the enigma that taunted me. With a sigh I looked down at my feet and got annoyed by the sight of the letter V set on the floor access plate to the aqueducts I had seen before with the twins. I groaned exasperated.

"This is the deal," I started, "I have seen these all over town." I pointed out to Ceci and Dario to the floor access plate. "This V, or a modified version of it in a crest. Just like the one in that black van's decal."

Ceci processed the information quietly while Dario crouched to look at the floor access plate more closely. I didn't elaborate that I'd also seen these V's in my nightmares for a few years now.

"So?" Ceci finally asked.

"Well, at first I thought it was a type of symbol or coat of arms for the City. But why did the van sport it on a decal? That funeral home is based two towns away."

"Maybe the people that own the business are originally from Volterra," Dario offered.

"That's impossible," Ms. Miriam interrupted with heavy accented English. We turned to her, surprised. We had never heard her speak in English before, as she always conducted her business in Italian.

"The V is for Volturri, one of the first founding families to become residents of Volterra. There have been no descendants left to speak of with that name for centuries now. Unless, of course, you believe the myths."

We stared at each other speculating. _What was she talking about?_

She looked up at the sky, calculating we still had an hour of daylight. She stood up, put out her cigar, and motioned for us to tag along. "You won't believe me unless I show you."

We stood up and curiously followed her back down the Market Street. I was the first to pry for more information. "So, why is their symbol branded all over town?" I asked. Ms. Miriam kept walking past the Market and along the City Limit Wall before responding.

"We are talking about medieval times and one of the most powerful families in the Etruscan territories. Volterra flourished under their rule, which is why their trademark appears in all official buildings and historical sites." She veered down a hallway that followed an older path in which the Main Wall was made out of slate.

After a few moments I recognized the path. It had come up while discussing Volterra's economy throughout the years in history class. This was the way the meat merchants used to bring the cattle and other livestock into town. They would keep all of it in the small warehouse to our left, which acted as a local slaughterhouse. I was just remembering how this practice was first established to deliver fresh meat to the main Market, when we abruptly came to a stop.

Ms. Miriam lead us to a Medieval looking iron door that apparently opened a separate chamber of the slaughterhouse building. The gate handle sported the Volturri crest, and on the door edges read a Latin inscription:

"ARS LONGA MORS ERIT VITA BREVE. SIC SEMPER ERAT, ET SIC SEMPER ERIT. LIBERTE TE EX INFERIS."

Ms. Miriam translated, "The art of a long death will be a short life. Thus has it always been and thus shall it ever be. Save yourself from Hell." Ceci, Dario and I stared at the inscription, trying to decipher its meaning.

"After furnishing this entire town for decades I have seen the Volturri symbol in the most unusual nooks and crannies, including unsuspecting secret chambers such as this." She pushed the unlocked iron door open to reveal a hollow room in the shape of a semi-circle made out of stone walls.

We stepped into the chamber and noticed that chains and hooks dangled from the ceiling. On the side wall antique looking cleavers hung menacingly.

"One would wonder why such inscriptions would guard chambers presumed for animal dismemberment-" she pointed to the ground where a concave receptacle rested at the center of the room acting as a drain hole "-and blood collection."


	8. Chapter 8

8. The Order of Saint Eustacio and the Decree of the Residential Vow

_Vampires?_

The whole thing was just… unreal.

After the creepy excursion Ms. Miriam had taken us on, we hastily excused ourselves, explaining we had a movie to catch. Once outside the iron door, we hit the floor running, leaving Ms. Miriam behind, never pausing to look back. When we got to the truck, we quickly decided to hide out at the movies after all, mostly for three purposes.

First, a movie offered the perfect distraction to shake off the night's developments. Second, we didn't know what to work out of all this new uncanny information. Third, we were too young to score a drink (even by Italian standards), so we hoped Leonardo's dreamy smile would fix any fretful feelings we were having. That last one was something at least Ceci and I could agree upon.

Unfortunately, Leo was of no use at all, mostly because his new movie "The Beach" was just not the sort of 'feel good' movie we were hoping for. First of all, it was about this guy pursuing a 'myth' or 'urban legend' about a lost paradise, just to find out such utopia _existed_ after all. However, he soon discovered this utopia was in fact truly lost due to a 'haunting secret' the characters could only 'dare to escape'.

Needless to say I had nightmares that night.

The dream, this time, had started very differently. I was walking on the same beach from the movie. Leo was there beckoning me to get into the water with him; so far so good. However, as I submerged myself in the water and come back for air, I found myself in the water fountain from the square from last evening, only the fountain in the dream was located exactly in front the iron door, from which Ms. Miriam stepped out whispering:

"Save yourself from Hell."

Turning inside the secret chamber, she pointed towards the drain receptacle on the floor. Two words echoed in my mind:

"Blood collection."

I felt Leo's hand holding my shoulder, and I turned towards him. He was standing next to me inside the water fountain.

"This is your home too. You will not-die-today."

And with a gasp I woke up.

It was 5:30 in the morning. Knowing I wouldn't go back to bed, I gave in to my coffee cravings and headed to the kitchen. Mother didn't approve of my coffee habits at such a young age, but I was able to get my way once in a while, especially when I woke up from my recurring nightmares in the middle of the night. Somehow it allowed me to settle down and collect my thoughts.

I liked having the house all to myself, so quiet. Outside the window was breaking dawn, the sun teasing the sky with morning light. I sighed to myself, waiting for the water to boil. I knew what I had to do today. There was no way around it. My subconscious wasn't going let it go, or at least let me have a full night sleep, until I found out the truth.

That is how I found myself over at Ms. Miriam's doorstep when she opened her shop that morning. She took a good look at me, not surprised at all that I had showed up looking for her.

"I'm sorry about yesterday…" I started, but she interrupted me.

"Are you sure this is where you need to be?" she asked.

I nodded silently.

"Because what you want to know cannot be unlearned once you know it," she continued, cutting to the chase.

I frowned.

_Why was she trying to persuade me against it now? Wasn't she the one who took us to that creepy chamber yesterday?_

I stepped inside the shop, showing my determination.

Reassured, she closed the door behind me and motioned to the main counter located at the back of the shop.

Once inside her shop the smell of incense hit me, along with the expected heat wave. For some reason her shop was always warmer well by a few degrees. I had been inside her shop many times before, but somehow everything looked eerie this time around.

You could argue it was the sight of the walls. Because she specialized in leather and fur, the walls were mostly covered with beautiful skins of all sorts of dead animals, which is why Ceci had never stepped inside the shop in principle. The very thought of it was completely nauseating to her.

Ms. Miriam offered me tea as we passed the small furniture display in front of the shop where she featured her best pieces. I kindly declined as we reached the massive wooden table she used as the main counter. The table also served her as a desk and was made out of an oddly shaped tree root, colossal in size, which swirled towards the ground. Behind the desk a display of strange trinkets, sinister totems and foreign inscriptions cramped the space resembling a bizarre looking altar.

She sat behind the counter and offered me a seat on the leather chair across from her. She paused for a moment, closing her eyes introspectively, and then she spoke softly.

"What you seek is a dark, mad, impossible tale your logical mind will refuse." She looked up at me, searching inside my eyes for any signs of vacillation. I waited patiently for her to continue.

"I have my own selfish reasons why it would be convenient for me to pass along the knowledge, so be warned that once you make up your mind I won't hold back what you seek."

I nodded willingly.

"Are you _sure_ this is what you want?" she pressured again, harshly.

I stared at her firmly, knowing there was no doubt or hesitation in my gaze. "Yes," I said.

"Very well," she paused, looking for a way to ease me into the subject. "You are acquainted, I presume, with the Feast of Saint Marcus."

"Yes."

"Have you ever bothered to consider the folklore surrounding the myth? What would you say if I were to tell you that there was a time when Volterra was actually ruled by vampires?"

I stare at her blankly. It felt like I had been stroked with a direct hit out of left field.

Then, single-minded, she reached for the big shoebox resting on top of her cramped desk. "I knew I was going to need this, I was wise to borrow it from Aquilino last night." She meant her neighbor, the shoemaker next door. "He keeps my files straight."

She reached inside the ordinary looking shoebox, that would easily fit a pair of knee high boots, and took out a wooden puzzle case. I had heard of these sorts of wooden puzzle boxes before, but had never seen one so intricate. The case required twelve sliding moves to remove the contents from within it, in this case a small glass plate.

She gently took it out and showed me the ancient looking document embedded in the glass, presumably for preservation. The document was written in Italian and it featured the Volturri crest as well as another crest that featured a cross-and-stag, a symbol I've only seen once before on the bottles of Jagermeister.

The document was titled "Commissione Di Voto Residenziale" and at the bottom featured twelve signatures.

I looked at Ms. Miriam in puzzlement. She sat back on her armchair, looking intently at me, and began her narration:

The Volturri Coven was slowly assembled by its leader, Aro, and his mate Sulpicia. The two of them had chosen Volterra as the ideal place in which to fulfill their vision of a perfect utopia, a place where men and immortals could live in what they referred a 'harmonious balance.'

You see back then, in the Middle Ages, the world had become a very dark and dangerous place to live for humans and immortals alike. The race of men had grown unruly, killing each other with chaos-ridden wars. In many places in Europe communities were growing violent, and even feral.

By the same token, the immortal race had taken advantage of the world's devastation, feasting on humans without qualms. Because of this, the knowledge of the existence of vampires back then was commonplace.

In this manner Europe became a fear-ridden place, crude and barely livable. The Immortal Royalty at the time, then lead by the Romanian Coven, was no use to the world's state of affairs. Feeling nothing but contempt for the human race, they amused themselves by wasting away their time playing at being kings.

To Aro, and especially Sulpicia, they idea of humanity's destruction was alarming. The annihilation of the human race was by its very meaning the annihilation of the immortal race. And for immortals to survive, the very delicate balance between predator and prey need to be re-established.

Aro and Sulpicia recruited Caius, Athenodora, Marcus, and Didyme to come up with a plan to usurp the Romanian Coven and bring Europe back to civility. The six members of the original coven employed help from other immortal nomads who supported the cause, and in an unsuspected ambush succeeded in overturning the Romanians. The original six took residence in Volterra and came to be known as The Volturri, the new Immortal Royalty.

Aro's and Sulpicia's first order of business was to ensure that the immortal race remained the minority. Human numbers had been declining for decades, so an increase of human numbers was critical.

Sulpicia had come up with a formula of 25 humans per vampire annually, a ratio that was set to increase as human numbers multiplied with the years. Even though the formula was a temporary measure, the Volturri were determined in implementing it as law for the first century of their rule. However, in order for the formula to work, and for humanity to flourish back into civility, Vampire Secrecy was vital.

Yet, for these new laws to be implemented, policing power was essential. That is how Athenodora conceived the notion of a creating a Volturri Army. Under their new ruling the Volturri Army was free to hunt for rogue vampires. Any immortals unwilling to abide by the Volturri's new laws were sentenced to death. And to make a point of their newfound power, no one was granted second chances.

This is how the Volturri first went underground, and vampires began living secretly among men. Soon after humans were thriving in numbers, and the world became somewhat civil once again. One could argue the Volturri saved the human race, but this was obviously never done out of piety. Immortals' human instincts are long lost. Their reasons for everything they do have always been self-seeking. They look to the human race as cattle, only good alive for sporadic diversions.

The only reason I know all of this is because I have uncovered the truths of Volterra's folklore that have been passed down through generations. And, as you have noticed, there is architectural proof of this history all over town. Nonetheless, History books insist in teaching us that the Volturri were one of the founding families of Volterra, and that the city prospered under their administration. But no one wonders why the city was built in such a way some streets see the light of day only for a few minutes at noon.

Naysayers call my views conspiracy theories. But there is enough data out there to support these notions. I've devoted most of my life to find what I like to call 'empiric proof' without avail. This document in front of you, Valeria, gives us the closest thing to evidence that proofs the Volturri indeed existed as immortals.

My mind was racing at a 200 kilometers per hour. _Was she serious? _The story somewhat made sense, but at the end was just that: a story.

I looked down at the document embedded inside the glass plate. Its contents didn't mention vampires, immortals, or a decree of secrecy. It read about something called the Residential Vow, in which all humans residing within the Walls of Volterra were vowed to be protected from Consumption. Which I knew, from History class, was just another word for Tuberculosis. 

"Sorry, I don't think I follow…"

"That's because I'm not done." She pointed at the encased document in my hands. "In order to explain the Residential Vow, I first need to explain the Immortal Children."

"Oh," I whispered settling back in my seat.

She reached inside a case of imported Cuban cigars. "Do you mind?"

I shook my head no and watched as she artfully proceeded to cut the foot of the cigar with the cutter. She continued with her narrative as she lit the cigar in gentle puffs, rotating it slowly to attain an even burn:

After a few centuries in power, the Volturri encountered what constituted the biggest fiasco to have stained an otherwise uneventful ruling. A new epidemic was rapidly spreading and annihilating parts of Eastern Europe, North Africa, the Middle East, and West Asian territories. Soon news of the unspeakable reached the cities near Volterra, alerting the Volturri of the sightings of a new breed of immortals constituted of children.

The Volturri Army was then faced with the task of destroying these newborns and their makers who now threatened all vampire law and order. However, the problem with the Immortal Children was that they were often protected not only by their makers but also by humans, who too often did their betting and paid the price for their blind loyalty. These irresistible and beautiful infants were particularly vicious as they were bitterly trapped in a body too young for their aspirations. Humans lured hopelessly to their will fell like dominoes in their wake.

The Volturri Army had been known to increase and decrease in numbers throughout the years, and was at the time afflicted with the lack of 'man power', for the lack of a better term. Before long the Volturri realized there were too many scatter cases of Immortal Children to deal with at once. It was later discovered that Amaranta, a well traveled newborn vampire with a bad case of empty nest, had spread the epidemic in such a matter that it was impossible for the Volturri to contain promptly. This meant that the more time the matter took to control the faster humans were getting killed, all Volturri efforts to increase human numbers for the past few centuries rapidly shattering.

But before looking into recruiting from other covens for assistance, the Volturri were surprised by the approach of a brave group of humans inside of Volterra who had caught wind of the situation and were willing to help. Lead by Eustacio, a Roman ex-general, the group had come up with a clever idea on how to rapidly track the Immortal Children for the Volturri to destroy. Taking advantage of the their unique position to roam the land during the day, the Order of Saint Eustacio-as the group later came to be known-was able to infiltrate the afflicting communities without raising suspicion, discover the immortals location, and mark the place they inhabited with an ashy cross. All the Volturri Army had to do once the sun set was to track the Order's scent to the place marked and finish the job. The Volturri recognized that despite the Order's basic inability to kill immortals, they offered the great value of time management and a successful way to contain the chaotic situation rapidly.

The alliance was a success, becoming the only known time when vampires and humans worked together as equals for a common goal. After Amaranta and all the Immortal Children and all the accomplice perpetrators were destroyed, the Volturri set a new law in place that declared the Immortal Children illegal.

Realizing this was a unique opportunity to bargain with the Volturri for the protection of the city, Eustacio requested the proclamation of the Residential Vow. Under this decree all humans residing within the walls of Volterra were promised protection from any and all vampire consumption. As a sign of good will the Volturri complied to this decree with the condition that the Order immediately disbanded, and kept to the Vampire Secrecy Law.

The surviving document in your hands is the only proof in existence of this agreement. The crest baring the stag-and-cross became a known symbol for Eustacio's cleaver idea of tracking the Immortal Children with an ashy cross. The stag represents the faithful human race, eager to see the dead on their way to oblivion.

Centuries after his death Eustacio was canonized as a Catholic Saint and at that time new legends of his supposedly miracles in the woods overshadowed the real story of his heroic deeds. Despite the historical disparities, however, he remained the Patron Saint for hunters, entrappers, and all of those faithful protectors of the weak.

There is vast evidence of the Order also hidden in Volterra's architectural history. Next time you come across symbols in the city look closely, the Order's Cross is often drawn along the Volturri's V as a sign of the human success and defiance against the immortal power.

Now, I know this document doesn't necessarily prove my story. It was carefully drafted as to not to mention any compromising details about the Volturri, in keeping with the Vampire Secrecy Law. But think about Valeria. The document irrefutably proves the Order's existence, which was created with the sole purpose of defeating the Immortal Children. If anything this document proofs that if the Order existed, then the Volturri-as the Immortal Royalty-also did.


	9. Chapter 9

9. X Marks the Spot

"Come on, Valeria. The woman has obviously lost her marbles," Ceci had said. Those were the last words spoken about the whole ordeal.

Ms. Miriam had dismissed me that peculiar morning after some customers had come to her shop to pick up an order. "You know where to find me if you have any more symbology questions," were her last words.

After that I had gone straight to Ceci and Dario to relay to them what she had told me. Ceci was more than happy to finally dismiss the whole matter, and Dario was just too distracted as the soccer season was upon us, so the whole vampire theory fell by the wayside.

I, on the other hand, didn't know what to think of it all. Sure, the whole idea was absurd. But somehow, I had been consumed by the story. And despite all of my efforts to set it aside, it stayed in the back of my head.

I spent that Sunday with Mother at the Coffee Shop, baking. I found that, when cooking, the only thing that mattered was concocting sweet mixtures of sugar and butter, and that made me feel better. Mother had also decided to install a new TV in the Coffee Shop recently, so we were kept busy with all sorts of people flocking in to watch the soccer games.

Days became months, and between the football season, school and the upcoming holidays I was back to my old routine. Ceci (and Dario by connection) didn't bring up what had transpired over the summer. I, on the other hand, still had my recurring nightmares every now and then, and tried my best not let them bother me.

In this manner, by 2001 I was reestablishing my normal life. I was spending a lot more time with the twins, for several reasons. First, unlike Ceci and Dario, the twins didn't mind when I brought up vampires in my stories, even if they sounded strange or fantastical. They actually relished story time with me, especially if it was gory.

What's more, Mariano had developed an affinity for music and I had become his official audience. He formed a band with his sister, Maribel, in which he was the main singer and songwriter. He was not only taking guitar lessons, but his parents had also bought him a synthesizer.

Maribel had reluctantly taken up the drums, slowly embracing her rhythmic abilities. However, what she enjoyed most about this new venture was coming up with the costumes for the band. The costumes always reflected the latest trend Mariano was into, and at the moment he was frantic about pirates and zombies. Maribel of course, fueled his fanaticism by coming up with elaborate pirate costumes that included wigs, wooden legs, eye patches, and fake blood.

In an attempt to satisfy their whims, one night I rented the latest rendition of 'Treasure Island' that had come out on DVD, and the classic 'Night of the Living Dead' for the three of us to watch. They loved them both, and drawing inspiration from both movies they decided to call their band "Zombie Pirates". A few weeks later I was surprised to find that, for my birthday, the twins had written their first single for me. They performed it on an impromptu stage they had set up in their bedroom:

I drink rum and search for treasure

Don't mind my gun

X marks the spot of all my pleasures

I look for gold

6 feet under, she said

It lies waiting

But when I dig through soot & grunge

I find them instead awaiting

Zombies Pirates!

Hey Ho Hey Ho

Zombies Pirates!

Hey Hey Ho!

It was the best birthday present EVER!

That evening, after eating gummy bear and fudge birthday cake made by the twins, I helped them clean up their little stage. They were particularly excited to show me the new glow in the dark stars they had stuck all over the ceiling of their room. I also noticed that, in an attempt to keep all their mess in order, their mom had bought a huge treasure trunk for them to keep all their musical instruments and pirate paraphernalia in. As I opened it, I gazed at a map of Volterra taped to the inside lid marked with a bunch of little red Xs.

"What is this?" I pointed to the map.

"It's our treasure map," Mariano said. "See? X marks all of the spots."

I looked closely at the Xs littering the whole map. I must have been frowning, for Maribel elaborated.

"We decided to mark all the Xs we could find in Volterra. Just like you found all those Vs…"

Of course, as I anticipated, that night I couldn't sleep. I kept tossing and turning, plagued with thoughts of Vs and Xs. At dawn a notion finally settled into my head after hearing the echoing voice of Ms. Miriam resonating in my ears:

There is vast evidence of the Order also hidden in Volterra's architectural history. Next time you come across symbols in the city look closely, the Order's Cross is often drawn along the Volturri's V as a sign of the human success and defiance against the immortal power. 

The next day, right after school, I asked the twins for their map. They followed me all over town as I discovered what I had suspected to be true: the Xs the twins had found weren't really Xs at all, but crosses. And, beside them, there was always a V to be found.

Ms. Miriam had been right about this at least.

I was conflicted about what to do with this new information, but soon decided I didn't want to go back to Ceci and Dario without further proof, or at least a reasonable theory which to explain my new findings. Through my favorite teacher, my History Professor Ms. Antonia Cosimo, I was granted access to the Guarnacci Library and the map archives of the city. I figured I might find something, maybe a pattern for the location of the symbols that could give me a clue of the Order's existence.

I found nothing really that called for my attention. Through further research on crosses, however, I found out that there was a collection of ancient crosses and crucifixes at the Chapel of San Paolo in Volterra's Cattedrale. Apparently the collection also featured a compendium of crests of all the ministries registered in the city. Most of them were Catholic, though passing Jesuit and Anglican missions were featured. I included, among my notes, a reminder to visit the exhibit.

I also found many botanical and medical works linked to these ministries, especially during the end of the 17th century and the beginning of the 18th century, throughout the malaria epidemic. I found this information interesting because at the time, malaria had been a bigger killer than consumption in Italy, but not for long.

The Jesuits had brought the cinchona bark to Italy to treat malaria, which had been discovered by Agostino Salumbrino, a Jesuit monk living in Peru. Years later an Anglican doctor nicknamed _Il Gaelico Uomo_ (The Gaelic Man) had come to Volterra with French expeditionary Charles Marie de La Condamine to ask the Volturri family for medical funding. The medical expedition in question consisted of going back to the Americas to find the most effective form of quinine to cure malaria. By 1737, the venture was labeled a success.

Interestingly enough, _Il Gaelico Uomo _didn't take credit for the discoveries, so full credit was given to La Condamine. However the Volturri were persuaded by _Il Gaelico Uomo_, along with the Catholic Church, to found the Guarnacci Library in 1786 to keep records of such ventures and findings. Overwhelmingly generous donations by the Volturri family were given to the library at the time as an incentive to keep record of all works of theology, literature, history, botanics, medicine, geography and humanistic disciplines.

The Volturri were also very passionate about funding the arts, so they acted as the main patrons for the Etruscan Guarnacci Museum and the nine alabaster workshops established at the time in Volterra. The donations were consistent until the family line appeared to have died out by the beginning of the 19th century.

The only document bearing the signature of the mysterious _Gaelico Uomo_ was the inaugural certificate for the Guarnacci Library. Next to the X marking the signature spot for _Il Gaelico Uomo_ a scribble read: C. Kuillinn.

I had to stop my research there that day. All this new information was turning my brain into mush. Thankfully it was Friday, so I was tempted to sleep in the next day. But at around eleven o'clock the next morning I had to pick up the twins from their music class and sit them until six, at which time the exhibit of crosses at the Cattedrale -which I was dying to check out- would be closing.

I had no choice in the matter. If I wanted to make it to the exhibit that day the twins had to tag along. The excursion, as I suspected, was welcomed with half-heartedness. Maribel hated to go to churches and Marianno was just not the sort of kid to take to an exhibit, for the exhibit's own safety. Consequently, neither was thrilled about the idea until I promised milkshakes at the Coffee Shop afterwards.

The Chapel of San Paolo was situated inside the Volterra Cattedrale, located mid-town. The twins sat at the back of the chapel, while I scrutinized the collection of ancient crosses and crucifixes in display. The show cases exhibited leather, copper, silver, and gold crosses among many other reliquaries. They were all beautiful, but none of them referenced any clues on the Order.

I then headed to the back of the chapel were a compendium of the Ministry Crests hanged on a frame from the wall. I quickly spotted the one sporting the stag-and-cross, labeled 'Order of Saint Eustacio'. But that was it; no further information was given on the crests. It was just an alphabetical compendium.

Disappointed, I sat with the twins on their pew facing the framed crests. Maribel had brought her puzzle book filled with crosswords and other games to pass the time. She and Marianno were playing a very competitive connect the dots game while I stared at the crests. That's when the idea hit me.

I asked Marianno for their map of Volterra with all of the crosses they had found in town, and proceeded to connect all the crosses together with a pencil. The final contour was hard to make out. It was as if two branches circled a cross. And that's when I smiled because I realized that the cross was positioned in the middle, just like Saint Eustacio's cross was featured in the middle of the stag's ferns.

Incredibly excited, I noticed that the main cross in question on the map pointed to the Holy Cross Chapel inside the Church of Saint Michele. The twins stared at the map with curiosity. "Come on kids, let's go where the X marks the spot".

My heart sank, however, an hour and a half later when we finally got to the Church and we noticed a banner announcing how the Chapel was closed for restorations. It figured.

Marianno tried to console me. "We'll just have to come back when the Chapel opens again."

"Restorations can take a while," I said, defeated. "It might be months, maybe more before they open it again."

After Saint Michele we stopped at the Coffee Shop to make good on my milkshake promise. Mr. Chaconier was there, making an emergency brown sugar delivery for Mother. His store at the Market was the most popular with restaurant and coffee shop vendors because not only would he make emergency deliveries, but also all of his goods were always incredibly fresh.

The down side of dealing with Mr. Chaconier was that he was a chatter box. While he was delivering Mother's order he dove into a soliloquy of his three favorite past times: the firework dispensary in town he kept due to his pyromaniac passion, the latest town gossip he liked to spread around just like an old lady, and the proverbial whine about the government's everlasting incompetency.

While listening to Mr. Chaconier mumble in the background, the twins and I sat down on a booth with our milkshakes, staring at the Map of Volterra and the cross-and-stag contour it was displaying. I turned the map side to side, looking for further clues.

"Look!" Maribel pointed out while looking at the map from across the table. She traced with her finger the letter V that protruded from the main ferns of the figure, from which the main cross raised on the map. I looked closely and the V intersected at the Palazzo Incontri Viti, located right across the street from Saint Michele.

"Interesting… the two main intersecting points are across from each other," I said, smiling with new found hope filling my eyes. "We might not need to go into the chapel after all." Maribel grinned back at me, excited, happy to have helped.

On our way out Mr. Chaconier offered us a ride since he needed to stop at the Bank anyway. That's when I realized how the Palazzo Incontri (now -Viti) was often mixed up with the Cassa di Risparmio di Volterra, aka the City's Bank at the Piazza dei Priori, because this last one used to be called Palazzo Incontri also.

When we got to our correct destination, the lady at the information desk explained to us that because of the winter schedule just part of the Palazzo was open for tours. The tour available included the second floor, and extended up to the courtyard. Everything beyond that was off limits, including the third floor. The twins and I examined the courtyard, then the dinning hall (Sala da Pranzzo) and the ballroom (Sala da Ballo) on the second floor. By the time we reached sitting hall (Salotto del Brachettone), which marked the end of the tour, I had given up searching for any crosses or Vs.

That's when Marianno tugged at my shirt and guided me towards a heavy curtain at the end of the sitting hall. The curtain was draping the wall, instead of a window, which I found odd. But then I realized that Marianno had discovered that the curtain was actually covering a secret door instead: a door that interestingly enough was sporting the Volturri Crest at the top of its wooden frame.


	10. Chapter 10

10. Il Gaelico Uomo

The lady at the information desk had come out of nowhere. Yelling at us in Italian, she kept pointing frantically at the brass plate hanging from the door, which read in five different languages: "Restricted Access."

"But I'm doing research for a school project…" I tried to argue back in Italian. "Is there any way I—"

"No, no, no," was all I was able to get out of her while she pushed the twins and me out the sitting hall. No amount of persuading would have changed her mind into letting us stay.

Our dispute with her grew increasingly louder for another five minutes, at which point the twins and I were escorted out of the premises with a warning not to return until we were of age.

"But we are already nine!" the twins countered back, aggravated. The woman didn't even bother to acknowledge them as she kept shoving us out the door.

I was about done arguing with her when I noticed how put out Marianno and Maribel were by the woman's manhandling. And just as we stepped out the door, I saw them turn to her and sling gum into her hair.

"I miei capelli! Diavoli! Diavoli!" she started yelling frantically.

I couldn't help myself and started laughing.

Pulling the twins with me, I ran down the curb to where Mr. Chaconier was parked. He stood waiting for us while chatting away with Ms. Lucinda from the hair salon down the street.

"Andiamo!" was all I could muster between laughs, as I looked back towards the woman who was now gesturing obscenities to us. It was all I could do to let the twins gesture obscenities right back at her.

At the sight of our uproar, Mr. Chaconier started the car and opened the doors for us. In a matter of seconds we were turning the corner down the street. For a late sixty year old, Mr. Chaconier was dangerously fast behind the wheel.

"I shit on the Lord's Supper! What on earth just happened?" Mr. Chaconier asked in Italian while chuckling. I was laughing so hard, his crude nature didn't affect me.

I proceeded to explain to him what had transpired while I held onto my seatbelt for dear life. Mr. Chaconier listened attentively whilst zigzagging down the street, attempting to veer off pedestrians. I was careful to leave the Volturri crest detail out of my recount.

"Those damn snobs! Think they're better than the rest of us. I've had the same admittance problem at the Palazzo dei Priori and the Cassa di Risparmio di Volterra. I think it's a conspiracy," Mr. Chaconier said. "All of these buildings are part of the historic patrimony given to the citizens of Volterra, and no access should be denied to us. I tell you, Valeria, the government is keeping secrets from us and taxing us extra in the process! Meanwhile the aqueducts over at via Ricciarelli are still without repair…"

The twins and I exchanged looks of amusement as Mr. Chaconier went off onto complain about the government-yet again-for the rest of our short trip home.

After thanking Mr. Chaconier for the lift and prompt getaway, I attempted to wish good night to the twins. They stopped me though, before we all headed inside our corresponding homes.

"Valeria," said Marianno.

"Yes?" He hesitated, searching for the right words to say while stealing glances from Maribel.

My eyes vacillated back and forth to the two of them, confused. "What?"

Finally, Maribel asked the question for the both of them. "What is going on?"

"What do you mean?" I countered, not sure how to even begin to explain the Volturri to the twins.

"The crosses, the Vs, the coat of arms… you are not really researching a project for school, are you?"

I sighed deeply, sitting on the entrance stairs to their apartment building. After a few moments of deliberation I decided to tell them the basics. It seemed only fair after all their help thus far. I chose, however, to leave the Volturri out for now, or at least until I figured it all out. _That way I can spare them all the gory details until it's absolutely necessary. _

"No… my research is not for a school project," I patted the space next to me, encouraging them to sit by me. "I'm following some clues. I'm not sure where they will lead me, but you know how sometimes you just need to do something? Just cause you have to?"

"You mean, like slinging gum onto that lady's hair?" asked Maribel. I smiled.

"Sometimes there are immediate reasons for the things that we do." I gestured to the map of Volterra in Marianno's hands. "But I have this strange feeling that this time I'll find the reasons for the things that I'm doing after I do them. Does that make sense?"

The twins stared at me quizzically. The innocence in their eyes threatened to break me. I was never good at lying to the twins. Something in me inexplicably and suddenly cracked.

"I just have this feeling— I know it sounds crazy. Is just that, somehow, maybe if I follow the clues… I might find out what happened to my dad."

As I said the words out loud, the realization of what I was saying hit me. Was this my real motivation? Did I really believe all of this was connected to my father?

Startled by my realization, I look up at the twins eyes and I could sense a profound understanding. There were some things we didn't need to say out loud to know, like the fact that they resented their parents for never being at home, and how they would do anything to get their attention.

The twins didn't know the full story about Father, and how his disappearance had really affected Mother and me. But they somehow now understood why I needed to do this, even if the way I was doing it made no sense at all. In their eyes, my nonsensical reasons were worth it.

Maribel stood up first. "It doesn't sound crazy." She then kissed me good night on both cheeks, in formal European style.

"Here," Marianno offered their map of Volterra to me. "You should keep it. We'll let you know if we see any more signs anywhere."

I took the marked map from his hands and kissed him good night too. "Thank you," I whispered, and watched them go inside their apartment building.

Later that night I lay in bed trying to connect the dots of all my new findings in my head, but my thoughts kept going back to my latest realization. Why did I think the Volturri were linked to my father's disappearance?

Was it because the nightmares? The Vs? Their relation to the Volturri? Their connection to Saint Marcus Day and how that was when I last saw Father? Was there more to be disclosed from all this? Were the Volturri really vampires? If the myth was actually based on truth, did this mean they still existed _today_?

I anxiously got out of bed. I needed answers, and I needed them now.

I grabbed my keys from the dresser and sneaked out into the night, finding myself at Ms. Miriam's shop front door twenty minutes later.

Since it was already night-time the shop was predictably closed, but I banged on the door anyway. I knew she was home; she never left her house at night. But my efforts were to no avail as the door remained locked. I paused to consider taking her vampire theories seriously for a second. Was that why she kept to a strict daylight schedule?

_Think about what you are saying, Valeria._

I sighed deeply.

Knowing perfectly well I wouldn't be able to back to bed, I decide to go for a night stroll instead. I needed to clear my head and the night was still young. The streets of Volterra stood before me shinning brightly in the moonlight, offering comfort.

Without any particular destination in mind I wandered through the city, which was buzzing with nightlife energy. Smoking patrons outside bars stood laughing down the block. I didn't recognize anyone and realized most of them were probably tourists coming through town.

I turned the corner and passed the Market, which triggered memories of Ceci and Dario. The twins were fun to hang out, but Ceci and Dario were my closest friends, and I missed them. I wondered how well formed my theories of the Volturri needed to be before I could head back to them with more clues to decipher. Would they take me back if I brought all this up again?

Suddenly I felt my heart breaking a little. The truth was, I was up to my neck with all this vampire nonsense, and so very alone.

I sighed again.

And that's when I realized that my feet had subconsciously taken me back to the Secret Chamber next door of the slaughterhouse. The iron door still stood ajar, and as I entered the Chamber, I found it the same way I had left it last time I had been here.

Yet, under the moonlight, the hollow space appeared somehow different. That's when it dawned on me that last time I'd been here it was still daylight. I stared up and saw the moonlight shinning through a skylight I hadn't noticed before. It was made out of glass welded into ornate pieces of iron.

I proceed to inspect the room for further details that might've escaped me the first time around. I studied the stone walls, and stroked the gamble and cleavers hanging form the ceiling, and was unable to find anything. After circling the area twice, I paused in the middle of the room where the floor curved down into a drain hole. Ms. Miriam worlds echoed inside my head once again: "Blood collection."

I kneeled down and looked for signs of blood everywhere, but I couldn't find any. To compensate for the lack of light available I took out my key chain and turned on my mini flashlight. I carefully continued to look down the drain more closely, and that's when I noticed the iron drain in question was shaped in what appeared to be a coat of arms.

The crest featured an encircled lion standing on three trevor leafs, and a human hand resting on top of its head. I directed my vision and my mini flashlight towards the dark piping behind the iron figure. The rusted pipe sank deep in the ground, into absolute darkness. If the drain was meant to collect blood, where was the pipe leading?

Suddenly the alarm on my digital watch beeped, announcing it was midnight. I had to get back home before it got too late.

The next day I awoke motivated, making it to Ms. Miriam first thing in the morning.

I was a bit disappointed that she welcomed my findings with meek interest. I had spread out on her table the twin's map of Volterra, and carefully described my visits to Saint Michele and the Palazzo Incontri Vitti. It was not until I laid down my notes from the research at the Guarnacci Library, and explained my findings there that she made me pause to elaborate on _Il Gaelico Uomo_. I looked up at the expression of interest in her eyes and sensed a breakthrough at my grasp.

"Yes, yes… _Il Gaelico Uomo_," she said. Her eyes twinkled, full with excitement. "The Order never knew his name."

I widen my eyes open in surprise, immediately frowning in concentration. "The inaugural documents for the Library include his signature," I thumbed through my notes until I found it. "There is no first name, just C. Kuillinn," I said eagerly.

Ms. Miriam stood up in shock, staring at the name scribbled on my notebook. After a moment, I noticed she was fighting back what it looked like euphoric tears. "You know what this means?" She reached for my hands across the table as I stared at her expectantly, "This is the first lead I have gotten in almost 30 years!"

"I don't understand. How is this 'Gaelic Man' fit in all of this?" I asked curiously.

Recognizing that she was getting ahead of herself, she settled down comfortably in her chair and switched gears onto storytelling mode:

"Some time after the Immortal Children Epidemic, the Order of Saint Eustacio found it hard to deal with the repercussions left over by the Decree of the Residential Vow. Over time, they realized it was completely unfair to have family and friends live outside the Walls of Volterra without the Vow's protection. It was even harder to have love ones move to adjacent towns and be unable to persuade them or warn them about the risk of doing so.

"So, for the benefit of all humans living in Volterra it was decided the Order was to keep operating as an underground secret society. The Order had been forced to keep to the Vampiric Law of Secrecy for obvious reasons. I mean, there was too much at stake just by having ignored the Volturri's orders of disbandment. However, the Order's new mission became too important to disregard: they now had to either find a way to expand the Volturri's ruling, or revolt against their oppression.

"It wasn't until the mid 1800s when the Order finally came across a way to contend the Volturri. During that time, a vampire that didn't feed on human blood had come to live among them. He was only ever known as '_Il Gaelico Uomo_'. His preference for animal blood set for special accommodations that soon were found out by the Order."

"The Secret Chamber at the slaughterhouse!" I interrupted.

"Exactly. Armed with this new found information, the Order came out of secrecy and confronted the Volturri at a private hearing. The Order attempted to bargain with the Volturri in hopes to expand the Residential Vow by reasoning that the consumption of animal blood was a fitting compromise for everyone. The whole idea was greeted with absolute contempt and ridicule by the Volturri. It was explained that despite the fact that the consumption of animal blood by Immortals wasn't illegal, it was highly frown upon. _Il Gaelico Uomo _was a favored guest in the city and as such was granted this particular indulgence, despite the pressures for converting to human blood. His lifestyle, however, was a thing of mockery and absurd amusement to the Volturri Court.

"After laughing at the Order's impositions and insolence for having refuse disbandment, the Volturri made it very clear they never compromised. To that the Order reacted impulsively, threatening to break the Vampiric Law of Secrecy. Seen as how the Volturri never gave second chances, the Order was annihilated on the spot. After that a new amendment to the Vampiric Secrecy Law was proclaimed. Because of their unreliable nature, under no circumstances were humans allowed to live while knowing the Immortal Secret.

_"Il Gaelico Uomo_ left Volterra shortly after the hearing, never to be heard of again. Upon his departure, the Volturri imposed Saint Marcus day as the anniversary of the restoration of the full Vampiric Secrecy. The cover up story of how Saint Marcus expelled the vampires (and by that meaning _Il Gaelico Uomo_) from the city took care of all left over rumors, turning them into myths. The Residential Vow was kept in place inside the city more as a security measure than anything else, to keep Volterra rumor free.

"One might argue that the Order's attempt for negotiations was in vain. But _Il Gaelico Uomo_ gave the Order a completely unexpected and invaluable piece of information. It's true that, _still today_, anyone outside of Volterra's city limits remains at risk of Immortal consumption. Yet, thanks to this C. Kuillinn there is still hope out there for the human race."


End file.
